


Change of Pace

by jacketwithpatches



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 18:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21184157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacketwithpatches/pseuds/jacketwithpatches
Summary: Demon skin isn't made for tears. What happens when Crowley cries and sees the extent to which Aziraphale cares for him? What happens when he tells Aziraphale why he's crying?





	Change of Pace

“Stop crying-” Aziraphale pleaded. “Dear, please, ple-”  
“Shut up!” Crowley shouted back. His eyes and cheeks were burning. Another hiccup that came with tears, bringing more pain to his face. This was more than a sting. This was blistering, blinding pain that was rippling down his jawline.   
“Crowley.” Aziraphale said firmly. “Your skin isn’t made for tears.”  
This wasn’t a tone he used often- the last time Crowley had heard it was when someone had tried to buy a book. Maybe it was the shock of hearing the tone that made Crowley snap his head up, but it worked to keep more tears from coming down.   
Aziraphale cautiously put a hand to Crowley’s face, just a gentle placement against his cheek. Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath in.   
“What’s wrong, dearest?”   
Dearest. That was new. It was only “dear,” ever, never “dearest.” Crowley chose to ignore it.   
“Nothing’s wrong.” He muttered, attempting to wipe his face but ending up with his hand against Aziraphale’s. He hesitated before moving away.   
“Mm.” Aziraphale responded, pursing his lips together. Crowley knew exactly what he was thinking: demons don’t cry. And he had been right, their skin isn’t made for tears. If and when they cry, it’s like fire and ice against their skin. It grinds and buries into their flesh and burns.   
And Crowley was crying again. Aziraphale was trying, he really was, to catch the tears on his fingers before they could deal any more damage to Crowley’s already puffy face.   
“Breathe, dearest.” Aziraphale said. And so Crowley did. Six thousand years, and he had not cried once. Not since the Fall.   
“I can’t even...grasp why I’m crying.” Crowley sniffed, in an attempt to keep snot from running down his face. It didn’t work.   
“You don’t have to think about that right now.”   
“Worse than bloody consecrated ground.” Crowley muttered. But all at once he noticed that the pain was going, no, had gone from his face. He didn’t feel swollen or puffy anymore, and nothing was burning. There was no grinding path down his cheeks- it was better.   
“Angel, what’re you- Jesus Christ!” Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s hand, which had come away from Crowley’s face and was now trying to hide in Aziraphale’s pocket. Crowley grabbed at it. It was red and blistering and swollen. Aziraphale flashed a nervous smile.   
“I just...it would have been horrible for, I mean, you deserve better than all that...it’s not your fault that you- er- I mean, I’m trying to say that, well, uh-” Aziraphale stuttered around, trying to find words. It wasn’t abnormal for him to find himself in this state of disarray, it was just embarrassing.   
“You put that back right now.” Crowley demanded, bracing himself. Of course, he knew he’d have to fight the angel to earn back his pain. Aziraphale wouldn't back down easily.   
“No, no, I really do insist. Now you...you go sleep. That’s a thing you like, you must be tired, really, yes, you go sleep, and I’ll tend to this.” Aziraphale waved the wounded hand, which was shaking.   
“I can’t, not with you like that.” Crowley insisted. “You put that back where it came from and let me...sleep it off.”   
“I…I can’t. Put it back. You can’t undo a miracle.” Aziraphale bit his lip.   
“You-” Crowley searched for words. Bless this angel, truly, but now the angel was hurt and it couldn’t be helped. “Bastard.” He finished.   
“I know.” Aziraphale grinned, attempting to hide a wince.   
“I wish I could help.” Crowley offered. “I don’t know anything about medicine. Except how to cause epidemics. Remember the Black Plague?” He said in an attempt to lighten the mood.   
Aziraphale chuckled, however forced it may have been.   
“Yes, I remember.” He said. “But you needn’t worry, I’m alright with medical practices and such. Remember how the Ebola Virus disappeared?”  
“Without a trace.” Crowley cracked a grin. Goddamnit. Here he was, smiling and joking around with this angel, who, for some reason, cared enough to take the pain from crying away from him. He now felt that, at the very least, he should explain to Aziraphale why he was so upset in the first place.   
“Listen, angel, I gotta- I mean, you deserve to know why I’m cryin’.” Crowley offered. He sniffled.   
“Well, you deserve to sit on the sofa and have a cup of tea.” Aziraphale countered. “I’ll get on it. Oolong, dearest?”   
The angel was already up and bustling towards the kitchen, so it seemed Crowley had no choice but to accept the warm mug of tea that was soon to come. Bless it, he wished he could decline. Wish that he’d never cried in the first place. But he had been crying, and Aziraphale had been there to comfort him. Aziraphale had miracled away his pain and taken it on himself, Aziraphale was making him tea and insisting he move to the sofa.   
That’s why he had been crying in the first place. Anthony J. Crowley, demon, was in love with an angel. And it couldn’t be helped. He knew that Aziraphale went out of his way for Crowley. There was no denying a certain level of friendship there. But that’s what Crowley was afraid of: friendship. Or rather, losing it. Nevermind that Aziraphale might not return Crowley’s feelings, but he might not want to see Crowley again. He might lose Aziraphale forever. Literally forever. He might as well drink Holy Water in that case.   
And that was only if he chose to tell Aziraphale. But he would have to, eventually. It had been pressing at his conscious for some time. Since Rome, to be more precise, when Aziraphale had offered to tempt him. Oh, the irony.   
“Here we are.” Aziraphale had come back in, holding two steaming cups of oolong tea. He handed one to Crowley and sat down in his usual posture: straight back, edge of the chair. Entirely missing the point of a sofa, but...cute.   
“Thanks.” Crowley said. He sipped the tea. It burned his tongue a bit, but he didn’t care all that much.   
“Of course, dearest.”   
“Why do you say that?” The demon asked, before he could stop himself. Sometimes he couldn’t believe himself.   
“Say what?” Aziraphale replied.  
“Dearest.” Crowley said. “You’ve never said that. You always say, you say ‘dear.’”   
Aziraphale shrugged and raised his eyebrows.   
“Change of pace, I suppose.”   
“Still trying to catch up with me?” Crowley grinned again.   
“Oh, dearest, you simply mustn’t hold a grudge against me for that.” The angel pleaded, concern lacing his voice. “I didn’t truly mean it.”   
“Don’t worry your pretty little head off, angel. I hold quite the opposite.”   
Fuck. Why had he chosen to say that? He could have not responded. He could have said something else. But no, he said something that...didn’t even make sense, in retrospect. The bigger shock, though, was Aziraphale’s response.   
“I know.”   
The angel’s back straightened more, somehow. Crowley gave that possibility a brief pondering before the weight of Aziraphale’s words hit him full force.   
“You- you know?”   
Aziraphale nodded. He was avoiding eye contact.   
“I’ve known for a bit. I thought that maybe...well, that you were only around so much because that’s what we do. You understand, right? I mean, we’re the only ones from our respective groups who have joined forces like this, so I- euh- Well, it became a little more clear the more you came around. Because you did, you started to pop in more often. So I know for sure that you think of me as your best friend. And I don’t want to lose you as my...best friend. But I really think I ought to tell you- oh, damnit, I love you!”   
“Best friends.” Crowley repeated.   
“Yes, that’s right.” Aziraphale said. “Oh, please don’t be cross. Crowley, please don’t be put off and leave. I couldn’t stand to-”  
“You stupid angel!” Crowley laughed. And he kept laughing, and he put his hands on Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale gave a shy and nervous smile.   
“Yes, I suppose that’s me.” He chuckled.   
“You stupid, stupid, beautiful angel.” Crowley said, still smiling.   
And then, nobody can tell who moved first, but there were angel lips on demon lips. There was passion in that room. Passion, fire, two lovers, and two cups of cold oolong tea.


End file.
